


my hands they shake, my head it spins (are you aware the shape i'm in?)

by imyoursandthatsitwhatever



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is Struggling, First Kiss, Hand Tremors, M/M, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22873978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imyoursandthatsitwhatever/pseuds/imyoursandthatsitwhatever
Summary: Billy snorts and pulls out a cigarette and lighter from his jacket pocket. Max purses her lips unhappily as she watches his fingers shake around the Zippo, struggling to hold it still enough to light the cigarette clasped tightly in his mouth. After a few seconds the lighter clatters to the ground—Steve stares at it for a moment, dumbstruck, before he bends down and grabs it, lighting the flame effortlessly and holding it to the end of Billy's cig. Billy glares at him and snatches the lighter back before trudging to the car."How long has…." Steve asks, gazing after him as Billy marches to the Beemer, sliding into the passenger seat and slamming the door."It's been going on for months," Max murmurs quietly, looking over at the car, her brow furrowed in concern. "That's why I made the appointment. He's been acting like he's mad at me, but I know he wants answers. He can't even hold a cup of coffee some days, it's gotten so bad."
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 40
Kudos: 307





	my hands they shake, my head it spins (are you aware the shape i'm in?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phaesporia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phaesporia/gifts), [mAadMax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mAadMax/gifts), [Maxine_Rising](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxine_Rising/gifts), [Amiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiko/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to:
> 
> -Jordan, my best friend and giver of fic advice  
> -Kenz, a star reviewer, star chef, and star friend  
> -Amiko, the most amazing artist who brings my scenes to life  
> -Carol, the best super fan in the whole world
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL 3000.
> 
> **Soundtrack:**  
>  Storms by Fleetwood Mac  
> Ballad of Love and Hate, I and Love and You by The Avett Brothers  
> Running Up that Hill by Kate Bush  
> Still Loving You by the Scorpions  
> I Will Wait by Mumford & Sons  
> What About Love by Heart

* * *

"I don't need a babysitter, Maxine."

Steve steps out of the car, watching the smoke curling up into the air from Billy's mouth, the warmth of his breath temporarily suspended in the chill. The smoke dissolves as he draws closer and Billy turns to him, fixing him with a piercing blue glare.

"Billy, you know the doctor says you can't drive yet. Steve's just gonna take you to the appointment, you're making a big deal out of _nothing_." Max rolls her eyes as she turns to Steve, her cheeks flushed from the cold and tiny little ice crystals clinging to her eyelashes.

"His appointment is at 8 a.m. tomorrow. They'll have a room ready for him when you get there, and they can put you up in the hotel next door," she explains to Steve, handing him a folder of information and a bag of pills. "Don't let him be a dick to you, okay? He appreciates you doing this."

Billy snorts and pulls out a cigarette and lighter from his jacket pocket. Max purses her lips unhappily as she watches his fingers shake around the Zippo, struggling to hold it still enough to light the cigarette clasped tightly in his mouth. After a few seconds the lighter clatters to the ground—Steve stares at it for a moment, dumbstruck, before he bends down and grabs it, lighting the flame effortlessly and holding it to the end of Billy's cig. Billy glares at him and snatches the lighter back before trudging to the car.

"How long has…." Steve asks, gazing after him as Billy marches to the Beemer, sliding into the passenger seat and slamming the door.

"It's been going on for months," Max murmurs quietly, looking over at the car, her brow furrowed in concern. "That's why I made the appointment. He's been acting like he's mad at me, but I know he wants answers. He can't even hold a cup of coffee some days, it's gotten so bad."

Steve watches as Billy takes the cigarette from his mouth, blowing the smoke through the cracked car window. Even from here, he can see the slight shake of the cigarette between his fingers.

"I'll get him there, don't worry," Steve tells Max kindly. She lifts up a black duffel bag.

"Here's his overnight stuff. I packed all his cassettes so you wouldn't have to listen to him bitch about your music taste," she explains, grinning at him wryly.

Steve laughs as he takes the bag from her. "Anything else?"

She looks down at the ground for a second, kicking a piece of ice with the toe of her boot. "He'll kill me for telling you this, but..." she glances nervously over at the distant car as if Billy could somehow hear her, "He remembers hearing your voice, that day he woke up. He asked me about it. Asked me what the hell you were doing there."

Steve stares at Max, the inside of his stomach growing cold. He remembers the cloying smell of antiseptic, the fluorescent lights, the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the hiss of artificial air being pumped into Billy's lungs...

"What did you tell him?" Steve asks, trying to keep his expression neutral.

Max purses her lips. "I told him that you were the one who brought me to visit him. Almost every day."

_Did you tell him about the nights I dropped you off at home, then drove back just to sit up with him all night? Did you tell him about the time you found me in the chapel, my knees bruised from the hours I spent praying? Did you tell him I don't even believe in God?_

Steve nods, pursing his lips and glancing over at the waiting car. Max reaches out to touch his hand, the soft fabric of her glove brushing across his knuckles.

"He never goes out, he just stays inside all day," she says softly, gesturing to the house behind them. Steve has never been inside Billy's place, but the pile of yellowed newspapers on the front porch and the way all of the blinds are drawn closed over the windows makes it look practically abandoned. He stares at a nearby patch of peeling grey paint as Max's next words are carried off on the winter breeze. "He could really use a friend right now." 

He reaches out to squeeze her hand. "I'll do my best," he murmurs, pulling her in for a quick hug before taking off at a brisk pace to the car. He can feel her eyes on him the whole way, knows she can see right through him. She's too smart not to know the power her words have on him.

_He could really use a friend right now._

Billy glares at him as he slides into the car; the cigarette is gone and his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

Steve gingerly sets the pills and paperwork in the backseat before handing the duffel bag over to Billy. "Max said she packed your cassettes, play whatever you want," Steve says, ejecting the tape from the deck and hurriedly tucking it into his pocket before Billy can see it's _Wham!_

Billy nods thoughtfully, pulling a worn cardboard box out of the bag and thumbing through the rows of cassettes. He settles on one and manages to jam it into the tape deck before the shaking of his hands betrays him, turning the volume up and laying his head back against the seat.

The music that drifts from the speakers isn't the deafening heavy metal Steve had been expecting; something about the opening melody is familiar.

_Every night that goes between_

_I feel a little less_

_As you slowly go away from me_

_This is only another test_

_Every day you do not come_

_Your softness fades away_

_Did I ever really care that much_

_Is there anything left to say_

_Every hour of fear I spend_

_My body tries to cry_

_Living through each empty night_

_A deadly call inside_

Steve lets out a shaky breath as the words fill the car; he knows this song. He knows it because Max had played it for Billy—or the _ghost_ of Billy, maybe, because at the time, he'd been hooked up to that awful breathing machine and hadn't opened his eyes yet. 

On a grey Friday morning in August, the doctors had told Max that Billy wouldn't wake up, that the machine was the only thing keeping him alive.

Steve remembers the look on her face—the way her lip shook with anger as she spit at them, "You don't get to decide what happens to my brother." He wonders if Billy knows how hard Max had fought for him. How she essentially had strong-armed herself into a position where she was the one approving any medical decisions. How she had gone to Hopper and arranged a restraining order against Neil, backed up by a red folder filled with painstakingly-detailed recountings of the abuse, scribbled on notebook paper in frantic handwriting, accompanied by dates, times, and faded polaroids of blood smearedon a wall, in a bathroom sink, that Steve could hardly stand to look at.

She'd been saving it, she told him. For a time she knew Billy wouldn't be caught in the crosshairs. Steve had tried not to think of what that had looked like—Max, pressed against her bedroom door, scribbling details across the paper with a shaking hand, recording each scream and sickening crunch as fist connected with bone.

It had made Steve want to kill a man. If Neil Hargrove had even bothered to show up to the hospital, he might have. 

“I like this song,” Steve comments quietly. Billy glances over at him, his eyes hidden behind his aviators.

“Max is big into Fleetwood Mac. She made me this tape to help me sleep. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m not planning on chatting with you the whole drive there, Harrington.” He lays his head against the window and folds his arms over his chest, as if to prove his point.

The tape switches to the next song, and the opening bars of “These Dreams” by Heart start to play. Steve laughs softly; he’d had _a huge_ crush on Nancy Wilson ever since freshman year, and when he and Nancy had dated, she’d constantly teased him about “wanting to upgrade.” 

“Something funny?” Billy asks, not even bothering to look over.

“Nothing,” Steve shoots back, because it’s not like Billy’s even _interested_.

* * *

The drive to Chicago is only about 3 hours, but construction on the highway sets them back. They spend over an hour stuck in bumper-to-bumper one-lane traffic, during which Steve strongly considers beating his head against the steering wheel. When they finally make it through the construction zone, Steve starts accelerating the Beemer back onto the highway, until he hears a loud _thump_ and feels the car start to drag. _Fuck._

Billy blinks awake as Steve manages to pull over to the side of the highway, putting his hazards on. “What’s goin’ on?” he asks groggily.

“Pretty sure my fucking tire just popped,” Steve replies, feeling tired and cranky and _so_ not in the mood to change a tire in this weather. He hauls himself out of the car and heads to the trunk, popping it open and lifting up the faux cover which houses the spare… only to find it empty. He stares at the empty space blankly, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he looks over at the back passenger tire, sitting flat and useless on the gravel. He leans down and pulls out a fat nail from the rubber, hearing the loud hiss of air as the tire completely deflates.

He looks back at the empty trunk, and thinks back to an argument he’d had with his dad the last time his parents were home.

“I _provide_ for you, young man! Don’t you dare forget that. I give you food to eat, a house to live in, a car to drive—Someday, you’ll learn that not all of those things are guaranteed, and you’ll regret not showing me more _respect_!” he had spit at Steve, when Steve had accidentally missed curfew by 20 minutes because he was dropping off the kids.

Steve braces his hands on the sides of the trunk, bowing his head. His dad had taken his fucking spare tire. To teach him a goddamn lesson. He _wanted_ this to happen—wanted Steve to be stranded, with no way to contact anyone, and nowhere else to go.

He hears the passenger door slam and the crunch of Billy’s boots on the snow. Steve sinks to the ground miserably, his head in his hands, leaning his back against the bumper.

“Your ass is gonna get wet,” Billy points out unhelpfully. Steve doesn’t look up. “Do you know how to change a tire? Where’s your spare?”

“I don’t have one, okay?” Steve shouts at Billy, gesturing at the empty trunk. “My asshole dad took it out of my car because he wants to teach me a goddamn _lesson._ He fucked me, and now we’re _both_ fucked.” He slams his elbow against the bumper in irritation; Billy’s eyebrows fly up in surprise.

“Your old man is an asshole for doing that, Harrington,” he says softly, squatting down next to Steve. Steve looks away, his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“Let’s get back in the car and get warm for a bit, all right? The next town isn’t that far from here. We can walk, or I can try to hitch us a ride. There should be an auto shop, and we can go get you another spare. It’s not a big deal.”

Steve wipes hastily at the tears stinging his eyes, mortified that he’s _crying_ in front of Billy Hargrove. He’s just so tired of his dad treating him like he’s nothing but a disappointment, when he never even bothers to stick around long enough to get to know anything about him. He’d been _babysitting_ when he’d broken curfew for God’s sake, his only crime having spent some extra time talking to Joyce after dropping Will off, because unlike his own, she was the kind of mother who actually made him feel loved and _wanted._

Billy holds out his hand to Steve, and Steve realizes belatedly that Billy hasn’t thrown any of his usual jabs or taunts at him. He claps his hand on Steve’s back as he helps pull him into a standing position, and they head back to the car, warming their hands up in the heat before they prepare to make the walk to the next town over.

True to form, Billy had only brought a stupid pair of fingerless gloves, so Steve grabs the extra pair he keeps in the glovebox (Dustin had accidentally left this particular pair behind—they say STAR WARS on them in big, blocky letters, and are also a hideous neon green) and slips them on, grumbling, as he passes his black gloves over to Billy. Billy pulls them on, grinning crookedly at Steve’s fashion statement as they slip out of the car, Steve spending a few extra seconds ensuring that all his valuables are safely stowed in his overnight bag and the car doors are locked before they begin the trek.

After walking about a mile, Billy manages to flag down a yellow Volkswagen bug (“Watch and learn, Harrington,” he’d said, as he unzipped his jacket and stuck a thumb out, flashing a winning smile as the car immediately pulled over). The driver is a nice young lady named Donna, who _of course_ will drive them to the next town over, why, it’s just _lovely_ in Dinwiddie.

But it is, in fact, _not l_ ovely in Dinwiddie, which they realize immediately after Donna drops them off. It’s practically a ghost town, the only businesses they could find that were even open being a diner and a cheap motel called the Sleepy Time Inn. No auto shops or even a mechanic in sight.

The sun is starting to set as they trudge into the diner, miserable and cold from circling the town for signs of life.

“Look, let’s just grab a bite to eat here and we can hole up in the motel next door,” Billy reasons as they collapse into a booth near the corner. “Not worth going another town over when it’s already getting dark out.”

“Your appointment is at 8:00 tomorrow, we’re never gonna make it,” Steve laments, leaning back in the booth and accidentally slamming his head against a light fixture directly behind him. Steve cringes and puts a hand on the back of his head, as Billy does his best not to outright laugh at him.

“Don’t sweat it, Harrington. I’m sure they can reschedule,” Billy says, smiling charmingly at the waitress who has come over to start pouring them mugs of steaming coffee. She looks like the typical girl next door, with flouncy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She’s exactly the kind of girl Steve would have had a crush on back in his “King Steve” days, but when he looks at her, he feels nothing. Billy, on the other hand, sits with his legs angled out of the booth towards her, pasting on his signature sugar-sweet smile as he looks her up and down.

“Here are your menus, I’ll be by to check on you in a bit,” she says sweetly, giving Billy a lingering gaze before flouncing over to another couple that had just sat down. Steve glares at him, unamused, from over the top of his coffee cup.

Billy puts his hands around his own mug, seemingly absorbing the warmth of it, but Steve can see the way his fingers are trembling as he tries to pick it up. Steve pretends to be busying himself looking at the menu, not wanting to embarrass Billy; he watches from the corner of his eye as Billy gingerly lifts up the mug and immediately drops it, coffee splattering everywhere. Steve grabs some napkins and wordlessly cleans up the spill, smiling kindly at Billy as he grabs a straw from the condiments caddy, unwraps it, and pushes it Billy’s way. Billy’s glare could practically turn him into stone, but he accepts the straw and slurps up the coffee, looking pissed but maybe a little grateful, too.

The waitress returns and Steve orders exactly what Billy orders—country fried steak and eggs—and on his way to use the restroom, he covertly catches her attention and asks her to please cut both of their steaks into pieces for them. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, but she nods in understanding when he tells her to keep the request between them.

When the food arrives, Billy fixes Steve with a withering glare as the waitress sets down their plates. "The fuck is this?" he asks, once the waitress is out of earshot.

Steve raises an eyebrow at Billy, immediately shoveling a large bite of steak into his mouth. “Um, it’s food?” he says, wiping a stray drop of gravy from the corner of his lip. Billy’s glare intensifies.

“I can see it’s _food_ , Harrington, just wondering why it’s cut up like a fuckin’ _baby’s_ about to eat it,” Billy spits, stabbing a fork through one of the bite-size pieces of steak. 

Steve shrugs and gestures to his plate. “Mine’s cut up, too? Maybe they’re just _thoughtful_ ,” he shoots back easily, stuffing a bit of egg into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously. Billy crinkles his nose in disgust and looks back down at his plate, sighing before shoving a piece of steak into his mouth.

Steve counts it as a win.

* * *

The waitress leaves Billy her number, because of course she does.

“ _Melody,_ ” Billy croons, reading off of the crinkled napkin as they cross the street to the motel, “Cute name. Think I should call her?”

Steve rolls his eyes as they reach the motel’s front entrance, holding the door open for Billy and gesturing him inside impatiently. “If you call her, we’re getting separate rooms,” he replies haughtily, following Billy to the front desk.

“Hiya,” Billy says charmingly to the woman behind the desk. She’s heavy-set with thinning hair and a pair of round turtleshell glasses. She glares at him, clearly unamused.

“Can I help you,” she asks flatly.

Billy’s smile falters for a moment, and Steve steps in. “Yes, we need a room. Double beds please.”

The woman scoffs. “Sorry, sweetheart, but there’s a convention in town. Only one room left, and it’s a single,” she replies. Steve stares at her in disbelief, but her expression doesn’t change.

“A convention? We walked through this entire town and there was no one around. There were only two people in the diner next door and it’s _dinnertime_!” Steve exclaims in exasperation.

The woman glares at him, gesturing to the wall of keys behind her. “Tell me, young man, how many keys do you see on the wall behind me?” she asks. Steve looks at the wall and much to his chagrin, sees only one key, under the number 23. He glances at Billy, who shrugs, and then sighs before digging out his wallet.

“How much is the room,” Steve mumbles as the woman (Gladys, he decides, she looks like a Gladys) waddles back to grab the last remaining key.

“$30,” she responds primly. Steve pulls some crumpled bills out of his wallet and slaps them onto the counter with a long-suffering sigh. Gladys hands him the key, sneering at him.

“Check-out’s 11:00. Sharp.”

Steve grabs the key and storms down the hallway, finding room 23 and shoving the key into the lock. He can hear Billy laughing softly behind him.

“Wonder what’s got her panties in a bunch,” Billy comments drily as the door opens with a creak. Steve switches the light on and groans. The room is barely large enough to accommodate the single queen bed, and the carpeting is old and stained. The bathroom is the size of a closet, with a dingy shower tucked right against the toilet.

“I was gonna offer to sleep in the bathtub, but looks like that won’t be happening,” Steve comments flatly, gazing at the bathroom in distaste.

Billy takes out a Ziploc of toiletries and throws it onto the bathroom counter before he tosses his duffel bag on the bed. “I don’t give a shit about sharing a bed, Harrington,” he says, waving his hand dismissively as he pulls his smokes out of his pocket. “I’m goin’ out for a smoke.”

He closes the door with a dull thud, and Steve is left in silence. He stares at the bathroom warily before pulling out his toothbrush and quickly brushing his teeth. Before he leaves the bathroom, he carefully puts toothpaste on Billy’s toothbrush and sets it beside the sink. 

Just as Steve pulls his jeans off, Billy slips back into the room, smelling like winter air and cigarette smoke. Steve sits down on the bed, pulling off his socks, as Billy shrugs off his jacket and lays it on top of a misshapen armchair shoved into the corner. Steve watches as Billy pulls off his black henley to reveal a white tank top beneath, his back to Steve—images of that same shirt, gruesomely soaked in black blood, flicker across Steve’s mind, and he has to look away.

Billy barrels into the bathroom without a word, closing the door. Steve arranges the pillows on the bed carefully, taking only one for himself and leaving Billy three, because he remembers Max telling him Billy needs to sleep propped up because of all the damage to his lungs. He leaves Billy’s bedside lamp on and switches the overhead light off, crawling into bed. The room is freezing and he burrows deeper under the covers, pulling the sheets tightly around himself and closing his eyes. 

After a few moments, he hears the bathroom door open with a click and some soft shuffling noises as Billy sheds his jeans. The lamp next to the bed is clicked off, and he feels the bed dip next to him and Billy climbing beneath the covers, his body radiating warmth as he slips in next to Steve. Billy tosses and turns a few times before laying still; Steve, for whatever reason, doesn’t feel the least bit tired, and finds himself counting the spaces between Billy’s breaths.

“Are you um, comfortable?” he finds himself asking, because he can’t fucking help himself. He hears Billy inhale sharply and breathe out through his nose.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Harrington. You’ve been treating me like a fucking child all goddamn day. Why do you even _CARE_ so much?" Billy asks, and his voice is like barbed wire, sharp and _angry_ , "We aren't friends, never have been."

Steve is quiet for a long time, listening to the rising and falling of Billy's rattling breath, as he stares up at the dark ceiling. It’s a fair question, because it’s not like Steve had ever gone out of his way for Billy, at least before he was flayed.

"Things changed for me, after that day at the mall," he begins, trying to organize his thoughts, ”When they said you weren't going to wake up, it felt like… like all the breath got knocked out of my lungs. But Max, she told me to keep believing. To not give up on you."

Steve sighs; Billy is silent beside him. "See, the thing is, I had _so many_ regrets when it came to you. Were you an asshole to me? Yeah. But you didn't deserve what happened to you. You didn't deserve to die like that. I just… I wanted a chance for us to start over."

Billy still hasn't said anything; Steve can feel the warmth emanating from his body, almost close enough to touch. But he doesn't; he knows that Billy needs his space, always has.

"Max told me stories about you, when we were sitting at the hospital together. She told me about her first night at the house in California, when you sat on the roof outside your bedroom window and listened to your music together. How you taught her about what the lyrics meant and who wrote them. How you tried in your own way to be comforting, because you knew she was scared.

"I started to figure out that the guy I thought I knew wasn't the real you. That something really awful had happened to you, had _been_ happening to you. And you had to survive somehow. I don't blame you. When you stepped in front of El that day, I wanted to know that part of you. The part you keep buried, the part you don’t really let anyone else see. 

"When you woke up, they took you away to that _place_ , and I wasn't even allowed in. Only Max could go in, 'cause she was family. It drove me crazy because I wanted to see you - I wanted to say sorry that we didn't notice sooner. And that no one was there for you."

"It wasn't your fault," Billy finally replies quietly. Steve smiles into the darkness, nodding.

"When you got released, Max told me they got you a house on the edge of town. I stopped by. I knocked on the door, even sat and waited, but you never answered."

Steve hears Billy suck in a breath, as if he’s going to say something—when he doesn’t, Steve keeps going.

"I wanted to tell you that nothing like that's ever gonna happen to you again. Not on my watch. That I could be your _friend_ , this time around. I mean. If you let me."

Steve lets out a shaky breath as he waits for Billy to say something. _Anything_. He hears the rustling of the blankets and then the lamp by the bed is being switched on.

Billy turns around to look at him, his expression guarded. His eyes are shining as he gazes at Steve, something swimming just below the surface that makes Steve's stomach ache.

"I didn't know it was you. At the door. I didn't know," Billy says, whisper-soft. Steve can see the way his hands are shaking from where they rest on Billy's knees.

"What would you have done, if you did know?" Steve asks, his mouth dry.

“I would have let you in,” Billy replies softly, after a pause. He glances up at Steve, his eyes looking uncertain, before he reaches over to grab his pack of Marlboros from the nightstand. “I need a smoke. You coming?”

He doesn’t wait for Steve’s answer before he gets up off the bed and tugs his jeans and jacket on. Steve scrambles to pull his own clothes on and follow Billy as he slips out the door, heading down the hallway of the motel to the back entrance. 

Snow is lightly falling to the ground as Steve looks out at the darkened forest behind the building; Billy leans against the rusted railing that runs along the staircase down to the parking lot, cigarette hanging from his lips. Steve slips his lighter out of his pocket and lights it for Billy before he can protest, the orange glow illuminating Billy’s profile in the darkness. Steve watches the cigarette bob between his lips before he plucks it out with shaking fingers, expelling the smoke into a perfect ring above them.

“I’m shit at that,” Steve admits, lighting the cigarette Billy hands him and bringing it to his lips. He takes a long drag, relishing the burn of the smoke in his lungs, before rounding his lips out and trying to copy Billy’s smoke ring. The shape is as unimpressive as he was expecting, looking more like a donut that had been dropped and crushed in the street; Billy laughs softly.

“You can’t be good at everything, Harrington,” he says easily, taking another drag. Steve glances over at him then, his gaze lingering on the snowflakes that cling to Billy’s curls and eyelashes.

“ ‘m not good at anything,” Steve mumbles, feeling his stomach twist uncomfortably. He isn’t good at being a boyfriend, he isn’t good in school. And he certainly isn’t good at winning fights.

“Bullshit,” Billy sneers, turning towards Steve, his eyes glinting in the darkness, “You’re good at taking care of people. There’s not a single goddamn person in my life I’d say is good at that, except for you.”

Steve turns to look at Billy, stunned. The cigarette he’s holding loosely in his fingers nearly slips from his grip.”You really mean that?” Steve asks, taking a step closer to Billy, searching his expression for any hints of a lie.

Billy takes another drag on his cigarette, his gaze locked on Steve’s. “You think after what I’ve been through, I’d waste my time saying things I don't mean?” Billy asks, venom dripping from his words. Steve watches as the stub of the cigarette slips from between Billy’s fingers, falling onto the pavement below.

Steve’s hand brushes against Billy’s on the railing, briefly, as if it might aid the forthcoming apology. “Sorry,” Steve murmurs, handing his cigarette over to Billy when he sees him reaching for another from the pack. Billy plucks the cigarette from Steve’s fingers, looking at him hesitantly before raising it to his mouth. “I just… I have trouble believing compliments, most of the time. I feel like I’m a failure, and that I don’t deserve them.”

“If there’s anybody in this goddamn world that deserves good things, it’s you, Bambi,” Billy says simply, taking a shaky pull from his cigarette, his expression stormy.

Steve giggles a little. “Bambi?” he asks fondly, nudging Billy’s shoulder. Billy rolls his eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Can’t be the first time someone’s called you that,” he says gruffly, turning away from Steve to stare across the parking lot. Steve can see a light blush creeping across his cheeks, and he grins to himself as he leans on the railing next to Billy.

“You know, you’re one of the only people who’s ever given me a nickname I actually _like,_ ” he says, watching his breath curl into a cloud of smoke and float up towards the stars. He turns his head towards Billy, who’s trying for a look of cool indifference, but Steve can see the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

“Not a fan of _King Steve_?” Billy teases, turning around to lean his back against the railing next to Steve.

Steve sighs and rolls his eyes. “You _know_ I’m not,” he breathes out in exasperation, plucking the cigarette from between Billy’s lips and taking one final drag before stomping it out with his foot. Billy’s mouth hangs open for a second, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Steve grins wryly at him.

“It’s cold as balls out here,” he announces, as if to defend his actions, “Let’s go back inside.”

“Hang on,” Billy says, catching Steve’s jacket sleeve before he can turn towards the door. “I got one more question.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks absentmindedly, letting Billy pull him back towards the railing. Steve tries not to stare too obviously at Billy’s hands, which are shaking pretty badly as he places them on the rusted metal.

“Did you mean what you said, back in the room?” Billy asks, his voice hushed, “About having regrets, and wanting to start over.”

“Yeah, Billy, I meant it. Of course I meant it,” Steve replies immediately. He watches as Billy’s fingers curl around the railing, his back hunched over, like a spring coiled tight. It feels like Billy’s _waiting_ on him to say more, and Steve wracks his brain, trying to figure out what Billy is really asking him.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve never really wanted a second chance _more_ , is the thing,” Steve says, softly. The wind is picking up, and he watches as it combs its way through Billy’s hair. “When the doctors said you weren’t gonna wake up, I started to lose hope. So I went to the chapel, and I prayed. Begged whoever might be listening to let you live. It was all I could think to do, because otherwise, I just felt so _useless_.”

Billy is starting to uncurl himself from the railing, his back still to Steve. He asks one more question, softly, his words mixing with the winter breeze.

“You ever try to talk to me?”

Steve sucks in a breath, the question completely unexpected. He blinks and he's back in the hospital room, clutching Billy’s cold hand in his, tears dripping down his nose as he begs, _“Please wake up. I’ll take care of you, I promise. I’ll be there for you. I’m not gonna run away from how I feel this time. I want a chance to start over with you, and do things right. Come on, Billy. Please come home.”_

“Uh, yeah, I did,” Steve replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

Billy turns around then, and Steve can see a tear track glittering on his cheek in the light of the moon as he fixes Steve with a piercing stare. “It didn’t all come back to me right away, I want you to know that,” Billy begins tentatively, “I haven’t been lying to you or anything. But when you said you wanted to start over, I remembered. Hearing your voice.”

Steve’s heart plummets somewhere deep down in his chest, and his breath stutters to a stop. _Fuck._

“Billy, I…” Steve starts, helplessly.

“I just wanna know what you meant,” Billy starts, and his voice is careful, _gentle_ , “When you said you weren’t gonna run away from how you feel this time.”

Steve closes his eyes and exhales, feeling the tension drain from his body as he comes to terms with the situation. This is the moment, and Steve has been _waiting_ for it—it would be a lie to say he wasn’t.

“You crept up on me, you know?” Steve begins, his voice shaking, turning his head so he won’t see Billy’s expression, “There was always this thing between us, this sorta _pull_ , and... I just never _understood_ it. It took losing you to realize what it meant. And I felt so fucking awful, watching you just lying there, thinking you were never gonna open your eyes. Thinking I’d lost my fucking chance.”

Billy nods slowly, leaning against the railing and staring at the ground, seemingly deep in thought. After a few moments of weighted silence, he strides forward and places a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder, guiding him towards the door. “Come on,” Billy murmurs, his other hand brushing against the small of Steve’s back, “You’re shivering. Let’s head back to the room.”

The walk back to the room might as well have lasted an eternity, because Billy still hasn’t _said_ anything, and Steve is anxious and nauseous and _confused._ Billy opens the door with the key and gestures for Steve to go in first, carefully re-locking the door behind him as he pulls it shut with a soft _click._ He shrugs his jacket off, throwing it casually aside, and Steve does the same, his face burning with embarrassment because he shouldn’t have fucking _said_ anything. He could have lied. Maybe it would have been better, just to lie.

“C’mere,” Billy says softly, walking over to sit on the bed and looking carefully at Steve.

Steve hesitates, but only for a moment, before he follows Billy’s lead and sits primly on the bed next to him, his hands folded in his lap. He worries at his lip, staring down at the ugly shag carpeting and wishing he could just melt away right into the floor.

“Come on, pretty boy, look at me,” Billy murmurs, lifting his hand up to Steve’s chin and turning it so that their gazes meet. Steve feels an icy cold fear start to twist in his gut, wonders if this is the moment where Billy tells him that what he feels is one-sided, and always has been.

Billy pauses, looks at Steve for a long moment before he smiles—a gorgeous, genuine, _joyful_ thing, and it honestly takes Steve’s fucking breath away. Billy leans forward, his eyes flicking up to Steve's as if asking for permission—Steve meets him halfway, eagerly, their lips crashing together as Steve reaches up to tangle his hands in Billy's curls. Billy breathes out a contented sigh and Steve swallows it down, licking into Billy's mouth hungrily as he climbs up and onto Billy's lap, relishing the feel of Billy's solid warmth beneath him.

He feels Billy's hands settle themselves gently onto his hips, trembling, as Billy's tongue pushes past Steve's teeth. Steve sighs and feels his shirt being tugged at, breaking the kiss to slip out of it impatiently before turning his attention back to Billy's mouth. Back to taking what he wants. What he's wanted for so fucking _long_.

Billy's shaking fingers explore the smooth planes of Steve's chest, and every touch of his calloused hands feels like fire. Steve pulls away to look at him, running a thumb along his cheekbone as he drinks Billy in: pupils blown wide, flushed cheeks, swollen lips. Looking blissed out and kiss-ravished and _perfect_.

"You got any idea how long I've wanted you?" Billy murmurs roughly, digging his fingers into the soft skin of Steve's ass in an effort to pull him closer.

Steve shudders as Billy leans in to kiss his neck, sucking at the sensitive skin just under his jawline until he can feel a bruise forming. Marking him, like Steve belongs to him. And God, does Steve _want_ to belong to Billy.

"Tell me," Steve whispers breathlessly as Billy releases his skin from between his teeth, pressing a chaste kiss to the mark as if to soothe it. " _Please_ tell me."

Billy laughs softly, watching as Steve threads their fingers together before gazing back up at him. "You first."

Steve smiles, pursing his lips together because he hadn't actually planned on ever telling Billy this. But he knows. He knows the exact moment; Jesus, he’d still been with _Nancy._

"At Tina's party," Steve leans in to whisper the words against Billy's lips, "When you came up to me, covered in beer, wound up and looking for a fight. I remember looking at your mouth and wondering, just for a second, how it would taste."

Billy groans into Steve's mouth at his answer, pulling him into a heady kiss. Steve can feel Billy's dick hardening underneath him, and he grinds down into it, the sensation making him dizzy.

"You could have had me the first day I saw you, pretty boy. Looks like we lost a lot of fuckin' time," Billy murmurs, squeezing their intertwined fingers together.

Steve looks down at Billy’s hands, which are still shaking ever so slightly in Steve’s grip—Steve smiles, bringing Billy’s hands up to his lips and kissing them. Billy looks at him warily, his eyes shining.

"When we go back home, are you still gonna want this?" Billy asks, his voice quiet, as if he’s expecting an answer he won’t like. Steve brings Billy's hands up to his face, holding them in place.

"I already lost you once. You think I wanna do it again?" Steve asks quietly, stroking his thumbs across the backs of Billy's hands.

Billy smiles in relief, leaning in to kiss Steve again, slowly and languidly as he pulls Steve down onto the bed with him. Steve settles comfortably on top of Billy, but pulls back from the kiss for a moment to frown as he tugs at the material of Billy's shirt.

Billy looks at him for a long moment before nodding, holding his arms loosely above his head. Steve sits up and pulls the shirt off, exhaling shakily as he takes in the mottled scars twisting like vines across Billy's chest. He feels Billy suck in a breath as Steve leans down to place a kiss on the one just above his heart.

"You're so fucking beautiful, do you know that?" Steve breathes as he kisses another scar near Billy's ribcage.

“More like damaged goods,” Billy replies breathlessly, and Steve stops, sitting back on Billy’s legs and looking at him carefully.

“Oh?” Steve asks innocently, reaching down to cup Billy’s dick through his jeans, pleased to feel it instantly hardening beneath his palm. Billy gasps in surprise and Steve replies, syrupy sweet, “Seems like everything still works just fine.”

“Jesus _Christ,_ Steve,” Billy breathes as Steve sinks back down to kiss him, the denim of their jeans rubbing together in the kind of way that leaves Steve breathless and _wanting._

“I’m so happy my dad took that fucking spare tire,” Steve murmurs against Billy’s neck, before sucking his own mark into the sensitive flesh.

He feels the vibration of Billy’s laughter beneath his lips, and a hand comes up to card itself through his hair.

“Me too, pretty boy. Me too.”

* * *

The next morning, Steve wakes up to bright sunlight streaming through the slotted blinds of the motel room. He blinks, burrowing his face back into the pillows; moments later, he feels an arm looping around his waist, tugging him into a blessedly warm chest.

“Mmmm,” is all he can manage as a gentle kiss is pressed to his shoulder, “Morning.”

He hears Billy laugh softly from behind him. “Morning,” he replies huskily, and Steve rolls over to look at him, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve murmurs as he takes Billy in—how the sun illuminates the gold in his hair, the sharp, sapphire blue of his eyes, and the light dusting of freckles on his nose, “How the fuck do you manage to look like a Calvin Klein model right when you wake up?”

Billy grins, his tongue licking across his teeth, before leaning in to press a warm kiss to Steve’s mouth. Steve hums in contentment as Billy takes his bottom lip between his teeth, sucking gently.

They’d kissed for _hours_ last night, and by the time they’d pulled apart, they were both panting and breathless. Billy had looked at Steve for a long time after that, threading his fingers through Steve’s before murmuring, _“I wanna do this right. Take things a little slower. If that’s okay by you.”_

Steve had nodded, smiling, as Billy pulled him in for a goodnight kiss. They’d fallen asleep in a mess of limbs, Steve cradled against Billy’s chest and their legs tangled together, Steve’s hand splayed over Billy’s steady heartbeat. It was the first time he’d fallen asleep feeling safe _, protected,_ in a long, long time.

Billy pulls away from him after a few breathless moments, his eyes still closed and his lips upturned in a crooked grin. “I’m gonna shower,” he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to Steve’s throat before hauling himself out of bed, heading into the bathroom. Billy pauses at the door, looking at Steve for an extended moment with a tentative, almost disbelieving smile on his face, before pulling the door closed with a soft click.

Steve lays on the bed for a second, dazed, before his brain catches up with him. He thinks back to the days in the locker room showers—watching the water cascading down the slopes of Billy’s back, his chest, his ass—and how he’d felt this weird kind of _want_ deep in his gut _,_ but not knowing (or maybe, not being willing to admit) what it had meant. He feels his cock jump at the memory, and he quickly slides off of the bed, padding softly over to the bathroom door. He hears the shower turn on and the curtain being moved back on the rod before he knocks softly.

“Hey,” Steve says, cracking the door open and feeling the heat of the steam escape, “Mind if I join you?”

He hears Billy laugh above the sound of the water. “Yeah, Harrington, come on in. Gonna be a tight squeeze, though.”

Steve’s heart is racing as he steps into the tiny bathroom and closes the door, clumsily pulling off his jeans and boxers. He takes a deep, steadying breath before pulling the curtain aside and stepping in. Billy turns to look at him over his shoulder, holding a bar of soap in his hand. Steve steps forward, pressing his chest up against Billy’s back, feeling his cock harden against the curve of Billy’s ass.

“Nice to see you, too,” Billy murmurs as Steve gently takes the soap from him.

“I want you to know I heard you. When you said you wanted to take things slow. I want that, too,” Steve whispers into Billy’s ear, bringing the soap to a lather and rubbing his hands down the expanse of Billy’s back, “Honestly, I just want to be with you.”

Billy leans his head back to press a soft, sweet kiss on Steve’s lips, and Steve grabs his arms to turn him around, pushing them both under the hot spray of the water. He feels Billy’s hands on the small of his back, can feel Billy’s cock hard against his own as he deepens the kiss, reaching out a hand to place it on the shower wall for balance.

Steve groans when Billy moves slightly, the friction of their dicks rubbing together leaving him dizzy. He pulls back from the kiss, pressing his forehead against Billy’s and breathing heavily.

“Can I touch you?” Steve whispers, watching as a drop of water slips down Billy’s nose. Billy nods, his eyes closing as Steve wraps his hand around the base of Billy’s dick. Billy is so _thick_ , is the thing, and something about it makes Steve’s mouth water as he starts pumping his hand along his length. Billy lets out a quiet moan as Steve works faster, twisting his hand when he reaches the head and catching the drips of pre on his thumb. He keeps eye contact with Billy as he gently lets go, bringing his thumb to his mouth and sucking experimentally. He watches Billy’s pupils blow out wide as he licks his lips, which isn’t even performative, because he genuinely _likes_ the taste of Billy on his tongue.

“ _Jesus_ , Bambi,” Billy murmurs as Steve’s hand returns to working his cock. Steve leans forward to lave his tongue across the hickey he’d left on Billy’s neck last night, before nipping at it with his teeth. Billy lets out a soft noise of surprise; Steve is so turned on right now, he’s starting to see stars.

“Is this okay?” Steve whispers in Billy’s ear, because he’s never _done_ this before, and he thinks the noises Billy’s making are good ones, but he isn’t really sure.

“God, yeah,” Billy breathes, resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, “Feels _so_ good.” Steve grins and takes Billy’s earlobe into his mouth, sucking gently as he twists his hand around Billy’s cock, feeling it pulsing beneath his grip. He keeps going, guided by the breathy sounds Billy’s making, and wondering why it’d taken him so goddamn long to let himself _want_ this.

“ ‘m gonna—” Billy starts, but it’s a few seconds too late as he spills over in Steve’s hand, his release painting itself all over Steve’s stomach. Steve looks down and drags his fingers through the mess on his belly, licking them clean while Billy watches. 

Billy reaches up to card his fingers through Steve’s hair, gazing at him before he leans in to kiss him, licking filthily into his mouth, like he’s trying to chase his own taste on Steve’s tongue. Billy pulls back, breathless, and tips Steve’s chin up towards him. “Where you been all my life,” is all he says, and Steve feels goosebumps rise on his arms from how Billy’s _looking_ at him, like he’s the holiest fucking thing he’s ever seen. He thinks back to how desperately he’d wanted Nancy to look at him like that; how his heart had cracked into a million pieces when he’d seen the way she looked at Jonathan, and how he’d thought maybe there was just something so fundamentally unlovable about him that he’d never find that with anyone. And now, Billy Hargrove was standing in front of him, looking at him like he was something worth keeping, worth _loving_.

“Waiting,” is all Steve can think to say, moving a soaked strand of hair back behind Billy’s ear. Billy smiles at him, and it’s a gorgeous and _knee-weakening_ kind of thing, and Steve didn’t even know it was _possible_ to feel this fucking happy.

“We got about five minutes until the hot water runs out,” Billy says softly, nuzzling against his cheek, “We should probably put it to good use.”

Before Steve can reply, Billy is bending down and getting on his knees beneath him, and oh. _Oh._ Steve lets out a shuddery breath as Billy kisses his stomach, just below his navel. Billy looks up at him and holds his gaze as he takes Steve into his mouth, trailing his tongue sinfully along the underside of his cock. Steve lets his head fall back against the shower wall, sighing as Billy takes him deeper, his tongue swirling around the head, and it feels so fucking _good_ , Steve could just die, right here. After a few moments, he feels himself hit the back of Billy’s throat and he about _blacks out_ , because no one has ever taken him that far before, but Billy keeps going like it’s nothing.

Steve can feels tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes—every movement Billy makes with his tongue and his mouth feels so _good_ , and it’s overwhelming because Billy looks up at him every so often to check that Steve likes what he’s doing, listens for Steve’s breathy sighs and moans and lets them guide him, and Steve has never felt this _cared for_. He buries his hands in Billy’s hair, stroking his fingers through the wet curls, and Billy adds his hand, pumping harder and faster until Steve is choking out a warning and spilling into the back of Billy’s throat.

Billy swallows, licking a drop of cum from the corner of his lips as Steve pulls him up to a standing position. Steve stares at him for a second, into the icy blue depths of Billy’s gaze, feeling like he could fall into those eyes and never come back.

“That was… um, amazing,” Steve says, lifting a hand to his neck self-consciously, “I didn’t even know it could feel that good.” He knows he’s blushing, can feel the way his cheeks are burning, but he’s so blissed out that he doesn’t even _care._

Billy grins, and it’s all teeth. “I’ve got a lot I need to show you then, pretty boy,” he says cockily, giving Steve’s ass cheek a gentle slap. Steve jumps a little and laughs, startled.

“We should probably, you know, _shower_ before we get out,” Steve reasons, grabbing the abandoned bar of soap off the shelf and lathering it up, running his hands down Billy’s chest, arms, and along the length of his dick. Billy smiles at him, lovesick and fond, before he snatches the bar of soap away and returns the favor, even going so far as to soap up the crack of Steve’s ass. Steve jumps a little when he feels Billy’s finger ghosting over a part of himself he is _not_ used to someone touching, but Billy just laughs and pulls him into a kiss.

* * *

When they get out of the shower, the alarm clock by the bed reads 7:30. “Max is gonna _kill me_ for missing your appointment. We didn’t even call to let them know!” Steve frets, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans, “I’m gonna go to the front desk and call, do you have the number?”

Billy reaches his hand out from where he’s sitting on the bed, and Steve sits down next to him reluctantly. “I already called ‘em this morning, pretty boy. Calm down.”

“What did you tell them? Can they reschedule?” Steve asks. Billy laughs and shakes his head.

“You really didn’t notice, huh?” Billy asks. Steve looks at him in confusion as Billy reaches for Steve’s hands, stretching them out and laying his own palms flat against them. Steve stares down at their hands, wide-eyed—Billy's hands are completely still. 

“When did—” Steve asks, breathlessly.

“I dunno. I went out for a smoke this morning, before you woke up, and for the first time in _months_ I lit my Zippo with no trouble. Who knows if it’ll last, but the doc told me I can make another appointment if it comes back.”

Billy looks at Steve then, the corner of his lips upturned in a half-smile, his gaze _soft_ and sincere. “Maybe all I needed was you.”

Steve loses his breath at those words, and he just _stares_ at Billy, feeling this deep sort of longing rise up in his chest, wondering what would have happened if he’d made it to Billy sooner. He lets out a shaky breath, knowing that it doesn’t do any good to dwell on shit like that, and leans in to kiss Billy on the forehead.

Billy sighs and leans his head into the crook of Steve’s shoulder. Steve wraps his arms around him and closes his eyes, relishing the warmth of Billy’s breath on his neck. They sit there for a long time, just holding each other.

* * *

It’s 5:00, and they’re _finally_ on their way home. The sun is setting, oozing oranges and pinks and reds over the horizon, and the stupid town of Dinwiddie is fading away in the rearview mirror.

After checking out at 11:07 (fuck you, Gladys), they had walked to the next town over and found a tire shop. Thankfully, Billy had known the specs of Steve’s old tire, and had even _insisted_ on changing it for him once they made the long trek back to the BMW— _“Princesses don’t change tires, now get your fine ass back in the car and let me work.”_

Steve looks over at Billy, who had also insisted on driving back. Billy glances over at him and smirks, reaching out with his free hand to take Steve’s, threading their fingers together over the console.

Billy doesn’t let go for the entire ride back to Hawkins; his grip is warm and steady in Steve’s palm.

When they finally pull up to Billy’s house, it’s dark, the moon high in the sky and stars twinkling above them. Billy turns to him, grinning fondly.

“How about I let you in this time?”

Steve laughs, squeezing Billy’s hand.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> *Bonus epilogue*
> 
> Max and Dustin, hiding in the bushes at Billy's house, bundled up in puffy winter jackets and armed with binoculars:
> 
> Dustin: "Max, it's cold as BALLS out here, I thought you said they'd be home by 8!"
> 
> Max: "SH, here they come!"
> 
> They watch as Steve and Billy pull into the driveway, and as Steve goes to the backseat to grab their bags, Billy pulls him into a kiss.
> 
> Dustin: "OH MY GOD. That traitor."
> 
> Max: "Fork over the cash, Henderson. I won."
> 
> Dustin (yelling): "YOUR BAD TASTE LOST ME TEN BUCKS TONIGHT, STEVE HARRINGTON!"
> 
> (Looool.)


End file.
